I had my excuse all ready for my date with the Anal Rapist: last-minute shopping for Christmas gifts. The only hitch was that I actually needed to do some last-minute shopping for Christmas gifts. Oh, and it was still my Time of the Month! But it was the fourth day, so with the help of my trusty sponge, I was sure I’d be OK.
”Don’t go overboard with the shopping this time,” my Dad cautioned me. “Try to stay within the realm of reality.”
“The realm of reality, Dad?” I exclaimed, as I flounced from the room. “You know I couldn’t find my way there if I tried!”
It was nice to see the Anal Rapist at home again – our last few encounters had been in either the stressful and harried front seat of his car, or anonymous hotel rooms. But I love it when he opens his door to me, and leads me into his darkly-lit living room, and lays me down on the arm of the sofa… oh no, the cream-coloured sofa!! I tried not to think about this as he greeted me, holding a switch in one hand and tapping at me menacingly with it. Then he kissed me, one hand straying down beneath my skirt.
“No knickers, eh?” he remarked. “What kind of slut are you?”
I giggled nervously as he took me by the hand, and followed him into the living room, where, grabbing my hair, he forced me to my knees, and undid his pants. I began to suck, and, unlike Cherry Popper, he forced my head roughly onto his cock, making me take him deeper, and face-fucked me until I gagged and choked. When he withdrew his cock from my mouth, it was coated in thick, ropey spit from the back of my throat. I smiled proudly to see it.
“Now get on the settee,” he told me. I hopped up and lay down on the arm of the sofa, making sure my skirt was underneath me, just in case. He held my legs apart and entered me, fucking me hard and deep. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your butt-plug, you little slut,” he said. But had he noticed something else? I searched his face anxiously for clues. Eventually he pulled out my plug, ignoring my squeals, and replaced it with his cock. I grimaced with pain. Although I am certainly not averse to anal sex, I never look forward to it with him, because, being somewhat generously-endowed, he always hurts me, and never makes me come. This time, I almost felt like asking him to stop. But, all things considered, it was probably the safer option, so I thought I’d better put up with it. And he had given me a Kindle for Christmas, after all.
He took pity on me, moving back into my pussy for a bit, and then switching again to my ass. Then he told me to get up and go to the bedroom. I glanced at the sofa discreetly as I rose. Oh God!! There appeared to be marks all over the back of it, as well as the cushion beneath me! But how could this be?! I hadn’t even touched the back of the sofa! Clinging at straws, I thought to myself: well, perhaps it wasn’t even me? I’m hardly the first girl he’s fucked on this sofa. And how visible were these stains anyway? Perhaps he hadn’t noticed? I wondered if I’d be able to sneak back in there later under the pretext of getting dressed and give it a couple of dabs with a wet-wipe. He’d be none the wiser.
I followed him into the bedroom, where he made me undress, down to my stockings and garter belt. Then he tied my wrists together with a silk scarf, and pulled it up over the top of the bedroom door, so my arms were raised above me. He took out his flogger and began to swing it languorously against my hips and thighs as he questioned me about my slutty behaviour. I turned to answer him, and he flicked the flogger lightly against my breasts. I looked up at him in horror. I had always been defensive about my breasts – he knew they had never been beaten. He flashed me an evil smile, and flogged me once or twice again across my chest. I whimpered, more in fear than in pain, and he reacted by bringing the flogger crashing down… onto the wall beside me. Then he began to beat me about the legs and back again, but harder this time. I cowered in fear, edging as far from him as I could with my wrists still strung up to the top of the door. Finally he took them down and asked me to lie on the bed. I could tell he wanted to tie me spread-eagled to the sheets – the pristine white sheets – and go down on me. I had to stop him, somehow…
“Stop!” I cried.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s not a good time for it.”
“It’s not a good time for it,” he repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes as he looked at me, unsmilingly. “Is that why there’s blood on the settee?”
“Y-yes,” I confessed, hanging my head in shame. So he had noticed after all. I felt terrible – close to tears. I should not have taken this risk. And yet mentally I still tried to defend myself. Some men don’t mind fucking a girl on her period. Is it just English men who have a problem with it? Well, how hypocritical! To be into all this kinky stuff and then put off by a bit of –
“So you won’t let me lick you?”
“Such an old-fashioned girl…” he murmured. “Kneel down on the edge of the bed, then, and let me fuck you up the arse again.”
I did it happily, this time, getting down on all fours while he stood behind me, thrusting into me. And strangely, this time, I felt myself gradually responding to his thrusts, at first just pushing back to meet them, then increasing the speed as I felt a strange urgency overcome me. There was something, something compelling me, building up inside me, and all of a sudden my muscles began to contract and clenched around his cock so tightly that he was ejected altogether! I gasped as I fell upon the bed, trembling and writhing with pleasure. He lay down beside me for a few moments while I recovered, then, with one hand to the back of my neck, moved my head down towards his cock again. I sucked him happily, sensing his growing excitement as I bobbed my head up and down and squeezed the base of his cock with his hand. He lifted one leg slightly to the side, allowing me room to lick his balls and the hard knot just beneath, which seemed to excite him even further. I even rimmed him a little, which I don’t do for just anyone, but then, not everyone can make me come from anal sex. It was going so well, I thought I might actually manage to make him come on my own, with only my mouth and hands, but he took over eventually, pulling me down onto his cock right at the end to swallow his come.
I lay beside him – turned on my side, just in case – still slightly breathless and giggling, from before.
“If it hadn’t been the wrong time,” he told me. “I could have made your legs twitch.”
“You did anyway,” I informed him, slightly vexed that he hadn’t noticed. Is my coming as unremarkable as that?!
“How are things at home?” he asked, changing the subject. “I get the feeling you don’t get much attention.”
“Quite the opposite,” I said coolly. “I get too much attention.”
I know he insists on seeing me as this stereotypical neglected housewife, wishing someone would actually just listen to me, for once. Whereas the truth is that after being in a co-dependent relationship for longer than I care to admit, I’ve had enough of talking. A little less conversation – a little more action, as Elvis would say.
“I’m not only interested in your body,” he went on. “I also want to know what’s in there.” He tapped my forehead with his finger. It’s always really funny when people say that to me, as though I were some poor, misunderstood stripper in a Nicolas Cage movie, just waiting for someone to finally come along and treat me as a human being. As though I’m the kind of girl who has to worry about being too beautiful to be taken seriously. Which is hugely flattering, really!
He showed me out, with directions to the station. Something seemed strange, though. At first, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, and then it hit me: usually, this was the moment he’d pay me. Now, of course, I realised that all those times he had “almost forgotten” to give me the money, he’d really just been trying to transition to this Weird Non-Paying Relationship we now enjoy. It was embarrassing to think of how brazenly I had reminded him to pay me, when all he wanted to do was promote me, to give me gifts instead of cash. And then all of a sudden it occurred to me that a Kindle doesn’t cost anywhere near as much as he used to pay me. Hmm…
He wrote to me later that night, after all my shopping was done.
“You made today one of the best days ever for me,” he said. “Now I’m going to be to re-live every moment from when you walked in the door until you walked out ….you are perfect.”
I guess he couldn’t have minded too much, then, about the sofa?